Sleeping Kisses
by Verboten Byacolate
Summary: Germany would not be the mouse, especially when Italy was the cat.


I wrote this while watching _The Audrey Hepburn Story_, and _When Harry Met Sally_, and _Capote_, so if the mood ever changes drastically... please forgive me.

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A wise (if somewhat violent) woman had once told him that love was a mysterious thing; until the word carried weight, it was as light as a feather, and could fly out of the mouth without a moment's hesitation. But when it became fat with meaning, it stuck itself deep in one's heart until someone precious came along and pulled it out.

For years it had been something he had never understood.

"I understand now, Miss Hungary," Feliciano sighed, listlessly stirring his coffee. Sunlight poured in through Germany's kitchen window, lighting the room and making him drowsy. He laid his cheek on the wooden table and closed his eyes, letting go of the spoon to pick at the sleeves around his wrists. The ones belonging to the shirt that Germany made him wear.

_Not at night, but often enough._

A warm flush spread across his cheeks and Feliciano groaned, shifting around in Germany's sturdy kitchen chair.

Anything and everything about Germany made him feel things. His rare smile and even scarcer laugh sent warm flutters through his heart, and his large hands, strong arms, and deep, rich voice stirred familiar heat through his loins. Just thinking about the present situation... Ludwig in the shower after spending the night with him... it made Feliciano wish to be in bed instead. In the proper place for feelings like these. He buried his face in his arms and breathed deeply, lost in the scent of warmth, of strength. Of Ludwig.

Heat rolled off of Italy in waves, red from his neck to his ears. He was drowning in the sound of his drumming heart.

Feliciano knew it the very moment on the previous night that he leapt into Ludwig's bed, burrowed into the German's side, and opened his mouth to say it when he... couldn't. He failed. The "I love Germany!" became a hasty "Goodnight, Germany," and then he didn't quite know what to do. He knew that Ludwig would know something was wrong if he unwrapped his arms and turned away, so he pressed his face against Ludwig's side to keep his emotions hidden. And he took the time to think. To remember.

Hungary's words were the first things that came to mind, and he was not so naive as to be unaware of the reason why. In fact, he was quite aware.

Without him knowing it, realizing it, even being remotely aware of it, he had fallen completely in love with Germany. Every cliche in the book filled his head with song and he wanted to let it out, to tell his dear Ludwig everything, but if he did, he knew that Germany would know his feelings were different. Germany was so smart. He would just know.

Of course he had always meant it when he had told Ludwig how much he loved him. As a friend. As a comrade. Now, though, he knew that if he barged into Ludwig's shower, it would not be an innocent endeavor. He had always wanted to be close to Germany, but now he wanted to be closer. He wanted to touch, to be touched. He had always hugged Germany, always held him close. He had ridden on Germany's back when he was hurt, leapt into Germany's arms when he was happy, climbed all over Germany at every chance he could.

With a passionate love heavy on his heart, every single move he made would mean something different. Every touch, every kiss, every smile would mean miles beyond what it had so far. Love so deep changed everything. At least to Italy.

Feliciano squirmed in his chair, fisting his fingers through his hair and moaning hopelessly. "But Germany will knooow! Germany aaalways knows!"

"What do I know?"

Feliciano jumped, nearly fell over the back of his chair and steadied himself by grabbing the table. Ludwig stood in the doorway and toweled his hair dry, watching Feliciano with mild amusement.

But when beads of moisture trailed down his slick, pale, bare skin and disappeared beneath the low waist of Germany's only pair of leisure jeans, the look Feliciano returned was definitely _not _one of amusement. If Germany had seen one look of hunger, he'd seen them all, and there was enough hunger in Italy's gaze to qualify as starvation. Only pride, status, and overall German-ness kept him from stepping back. "There's wurst in the icebox," he grunted, standing his ground.

To Ludwig's relief, Feliciano's predatory aura receded a bit to make room for befuddlement.

"Wurst?" His eyes clouded over in thought for a moment and slowly his gaze trailed from Ludwig's eyes to his chest, slowly roving over his stomach, and finally landing on... "Wurst..."

No amount of German-ness could keep Ludwig from escaping, so escape he did. Or... tried.

"You! Stay where you are!" Germany commanded as he backtracked down the hall, feeling very out of command indeed. Italy pushed himself off the chair and followed Ludwig slowly, at the pace of a cat about to pounce. It was not in Ludwig's nature to be the mouse. The situation was very frightening indeed.

Ludwig collected himself. Composure and dignity took hold of him once more.

Germany would _not _be the mouse, especially if _Italy _was the cat.

"What do you think you're doing?" Ludwig asked with all the authority he could muster. He watched confusedly as Feliciano seemed to shiver.

"Germany." Germany's blood froze at the unfamiliar tone. Feliciano stepped close and wrapped his arms around Ludwig's waist. "I really... really love Germany."

"A-ah?" Ludwig looked down. Feliciano looked up.

"Mmm. Really. I love Germany." He pressed a warm hand against Ludwig's moist skin. "A lot."

As if the meaningful look wasn't enough (and it was, for Germany truly _got it_), Feliciano slid upward and claimed his mouth.

Feliciano kissed him often. Often, but not with so much passion. Germany knew, as Feliciano said he would.

And he didn't quite know what to do.

"Mmm," quipped ever-talkative Feliciano, his arms winding around Ludwig's neck to drag him down closer. The confused German bent, as Feliciano willed him, and Italy couldn't help but find his hesitation terribly sweet. "Germany is so silly," he muttered against the bare flesh of his ally's throat.

Germany cleared it. Loudly.

"Do all Italians sleep-kiss?" he asked with forced patience. It was Italy's turn to be confused.

"Sleep-kiss?"

Feliciano opened his eyes. Ludwig eyed him from below on the bed, his brows raised in a silent question. Italy laughed, embarrassed, and sat up straight, finding himself stradling Germany. "I was sleeping. I dreamt of, uh... you, Germany."

"You got on top of me and kissed me. And then you called me silly." Ludwig's tone was dry. "I can't help but wonder where your respect for me has gone."

"I still respect Germany!" Feliciano argued, shifting a little on Germany's abdomen. "Because Germany is loyal and strong and handsome and manly and he rescues me when I need him and _yes_, he _is _sweet." Feliciano smiled. "I really love Germany."

Ludwig sighed. "I know."

Feliciano laughed. "I knew you would."


End file.
